The Shop 'Til You Drop Affair
by girl in the glen
Summary: Illya's got a princess in Dallas and a mystery to unravel.Napoleon is travel weary but willing to help. Anything for a buddy and a beautiful woman. All descriptions of Neiman Marcus are literary, not actual.
1. Chapter 1

He had just walked through the door, ready to head for the shower when that blasted communicator started beeping.  
"God, how I'd love to throw that thing through the window..." He didn't, however. He opened it wearily and spoke into it.  
"Solo here...barely". Harrumph on the other end...  
"Mr. Solo, have I disturbed you?" Oh, the other end sounded displeased.  
"No sir. Sorry...I meant that I almost missed getting to the...sorry. What is it you need, sir?" Napoleon felt the color rush to his cheeks in one of so few incidents that betrayed that even he was vulnerable at times.  
"We seem to have lost your partner, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin was scheduled to report in three hours ago, and we have not heard from him. I understand you've only just arrived back here in New York, however..."  
"No, sir I'm...I'm available, of course. Where is Illya?" He felt that familiar knot begin to twist in his stomach; the one that showed up every time there was a possibility that his partner, his friend...his fatigue was replaced by the wrenching twinges of fear and dread with this latest news.  
"His last location was in Dallas, in the Neiman Marcus department store. He has been there working as a photographer in the Gittings studio...uh...his assignment was to safeguard the Princess of Antolo, who is there to have her portrait done".  
At that last, Napoleon felt a twinge of jealousy and regret that he had always given tha role of photographer to his blond partner. Now he was lost in the entourage, perhaps, of a princess from a little known country. That should have been his job. Still, Illya missing...not good. He returned to his business and the real concern that the man was in danger.  
"I'll be on the next flight sir. I assume that's what you want..." Actually, sometimes the old man threw curve balls, but he figured his assignment was to go find Illya.  
"Yes, Mr. Solo, that is exactly what I desire from you. That, and to find your partner. There were threats against Antolo, from a familiar nemesis of ours...Thrush. They have designs on that small country and its rich mineral reserves; specifically copper. For some reason that we have not been able to figure, they are mad for copper at present. You, Mr. Solo, and Mr. Kuryakin, after you locate him, are to get to the bottom of this mystery". "And, we will do just that, sir. You have my assurance on it. I'll be in touch. Solo out".  
Napoloen emptied the contents of his suitcase and refilled it with clean clothes. He didn't have time for a shower, so with the newly filled suitcase and a quick brush at his hair, he was back on the street hailing a taxi and enroute to the airport.

The Neiman Marcus store in Dallas, Texas was the Russian's vision of American decadence come to life. Within this store the artistic and materialistic excesses that he had been trained to detest all came to life. Great art became the inspiration for private label textiles, the finest offerings of the world finding a home for their inglorious, capitalistic audience. Illya Kuryakin was at once repulsed and fascinated. Even Napoleon's excesses couldn't begin to compare with what the young agent saw within these walls, among the clientele that the store served. This was ultimate conspicuous consumption.  
That had been his first impression, but as he now found himself waking up from a drug and fist induced slumber, bound and gagged in a dirty warehouse, his clothing ripped and blood drying on his face, a little decadence and comfort sounded very good to him. He would, without complaint, trade places with the well dressed salesmen he had only recently hissed at under his breath as he criticized them for being so complacent about the surroundings he had thought so distasteful to his soviet aesthetic. Now, in retrospect, that was rather an oxymoron, to have a soviet aesthetic. Somethow the two just didn't go together well. He was losing his socialist edge.

First things first...he had to get out of here. Princess Talia might be in danger if they'd spotted him already. She was the most likely target of a kidnapping attempt by Thrush. How had he been identified? His cover was secure, and his role as a photographer in the famed Gittings Studio within the Neiman Marcus flagship store had been well orchestrated. His skills were sufficient to pass himself off as a professional photographer, and all of the princess' sittings had been scheduled so that he would be close at hand. In exchange for the knowledge that he was from the U.N.C.L.E., she had agreed to let him accompany her to and from her hotel, portraying themselves as being friendly, if not romantically involved. He knew it had looked convincing so...it had to be someone inside her entourage. With that issue settled, he now went about trying to free his hands. They had been very well secured, and it was going to cost him some skin to get out of this predicament. He wrenched his hands and tried to make them as slender as possible, edging through the ropes, little by little. He could feel blood on his hands as the sisal roughed and splintered against his skin. At least this type would stretch, even if it did do more damage. He felt the ease in the fibers as his left hand twisted through and free of the emcumbrance. Hazards of the profession, he thought to himself. Long sleeves to hide the wrist scars, shirts to hide the chest and back. There were more limitations than freedoms in this job.  
He hurriedly unfastened the ropes binding his ankles and then, almost absentmindedly, detached the duct tape from across his mouth. Taking a longer than ordinary deep breath, he stood up and began to take inventory of his surroundings. It was hot. He had to still be in the city by the looks of this place, because beyond the city there was not much more than houses and then countryside, and that big lake. Thrush probably had plans for him for later, so they wouldn't have dumped him too far away from their operation. He had nothing left on him; no communicator or gun, no gadgets. They had been efficient in disarming and disabling him, it seemed.  
Illya moved stealthily through the building, just in case there were guards in unseen places. He couldn't hear any noise except traffic coming from outside; he was next to a freeway. As he eased near to a door, light was still coming through, although it was tinged with the colors of a sunset. He'd been in here for a few hours, and thought back to his last memory of being in the studio. It had been around lunch time, and he and the princess were to have taken lunch together. So, about five hours he reasoned, since then. Being October, the days were just shortened enough to have sundown at around six, so it was a little past five thirty.  
He opened the door, and seeing no one around began to make his way towards a car in the parking lot. There were several, and he looked for keys in an ignition. It was a longshot, and he would certainly have no trouble starting an engine without keys, but sometimes it was nice to have it be easy. Unbelievable! Keys on the seat. This must be a secure lot, he thought, for them to be so cavalier about things like this. He opened the door and reached for the keys. Then, as an after thought, decided to check out the undercarriage for an explosive. He also checked for bugs or...  
"I should have known. They expected me to get out...' he said it aloud at the sight of the homing device. He easily disengaged it and then, having satisfied himself that the car was safe to drive, put the key in the ignintion and headed for the gate. He had to ram it, but did so without thought to damaging the car or the gate. He could see the center of the city, so found the onramp and headed for downtown Dallas. First stop was his hotel. He couldn't go anywhere looking as he did, so he headed downtown to a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Napoleon managed to be himself on the flight to Dallas, flirting and engaging in provocative chit chat with the stewardesses. Tired or not, the sight of lovely ladies in form fitting blue uniforms seemed to add enough spark to revive him somewhat. The only thing that stopped him from making a date for that evening was the uncertaninty of his partner's wellbeing and whereabouts. Illya had still not checked in when he landed at five o'clock, which would have been six in New York. He had an extra hour to stay awake now.  
His first stop was the Neiman-Marcus at Main and Ervay. This was the flagship store, the heart and soul of the magnificent retailer. Napoleon had once attended a Fortnight there, the annual celebration of art, fashion and culture that was a highlight of the Dallas holiday season, and attended by celebrities and dignitaries from all over the world. His role had been on the arm of a lovely lady from Spain whose shopping acumen was second only to her charms in the bedroom. Napoleon heaved a sigh at the memories as he exited his taxi and entered the glass doors that led to the decadence within. "I cannot begin to imagine Illya in here among this luxury". He said it aloud as he passed by the first row of the season's most current offerings. He had to wonder if one of the employees had done something to the little Russian in retaliation of what he most certainly had uttered in defiance of such gratuitous luxury.  
"Hello sir. May I direct you someplace?" The accent had a soft drawl, but the face was a vision to the weary American. Red lips in a matte veneer of perfect application, long black lashes surrounding deep brown eyes...  
"Oh, I'm meeting someone at the Gittings studio. Where might I find that?" He returned her smile and determined to come back and look her up after he found his partner and settled this matter.  
"Just take this up to the second floor, sir. Are you just visiting?" She was smiling with a vengeance now, her eye for quality resting appreciatively on the suave agent.  
"Uh, yes...as a matter of fact I am visiting, from New York. Perhaps after I conclude my business here we might have dinner together". That just slipped out, but he did so desire to wine and dine this gorgeous creature.  
"I reckon you can find me here...my name is Penelope". She said it with a perfectly drawn out cadence, and he fell for it completely.  
"I'm Napoleon Solo...at your service". After completing the transaction with Penelope, Napoleon was heading upstairs to the studio where his partner had been spending his time. The girl at the reception area grew slightly pink as she recalled the handsome blond with the exotic accent. She hadn't seen him since earlier in the day, around lunch she thought. He was waiting for Princess Talia of Antolo, who had a sitting scheduled. He had received a phone call and left, and the princess had never arrived. She wasn't aware of any other plans he might have had. Mr. Gittings was still not on site, and all of Mr. Kuryakin's appointments had been cancelled.  
"Well, thank you very much. I'll just have to catch him at home. Good night".

The agent needed to get to Illya's hotel and try to discover something, anything that might be helpful in locating his partner. If the girl was also missing...but that's not what was said. She didn't show up, and so far no one had contacted him to say she was missing or demands had been made. Only Illya was officially off the radar.  
His communicator started beeping at the moment he was coming to these conclusions.  
"Solo here...any news on Illya?" "Yes, as a matter of fact. He's called us from his hotel phone. You can find him there now, Mr. Solo. I suggest you make that your next stop". Oh, just as though he hadn't been heading there.  
"Yes sir, I was on my way. Did he explain where he's been?" He must have lost his communicator to be using a phone.  
"He will fill you in on all of that when you see him, I'm sure. Waverly out". Napoleon imagined the old man now, reaching for a pipe and not lighting it, just tamping and fidgeting with the thing. Still, it brought a smile to his face.

Illya had showered and dressed, but only after checking in. He called headquarters and discovered that Napoleon was in Dallas, and that there was nothing to report concerning the princess. If she had been abducted, there was nothing to indicate it. For now it seemed that she was safe. Then he thought of his own misadventure. Getting caught had been stupid, and he was mentally kicking himself for letting it happen. Sometimes he wondered if he were any good at his job.  
A knock at the door brought him back from his thoughts; he grabbed his Special and moved cautiously towards it, tensed for action until he heard his friend's familiar greeting.  
"Oh Illya...it's me. You can open the door". Each man envisioned the smiling face of the other, the relief at not encountering a Thrush at this moment. Illya unlocked the door and opened it tentatively and then wide as he got a good glimpse of Napoleon, leaning against the door frame in a nonchalant posture.  
"Napoleon, you got here fast. I suppose Mr. Waverly sent you to find me". He was glad to see his friend, but at the same time it was a little embarrasing to be the subject of another rescue. At least he'd gotten free without help.  
"Yes, well I was already in a travel mode, so I just repacked my suitcase and got on another plane". He did look tired, and as he entered the apartment his eye was scanning for a bottle of something to supplement his weariness.  
"Sit down, I have vodka and...vodka. Sorry. We can go have a drink at the bar downstairs. Actually, I'm starved, so let's eat while we're at it". Napoleon had set down his suitcase and was already walking out the door as the words came out of the Russian's mouth. Hungry, thirsty and tired. He hoped they weren't in for a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

The two agents, both weary and slightly worse for wear, settled into a booth in the hotel dining room. Drinks were ordered and the menus perused casually, as though time weren't important. That was not the case, but they didn't need the affect of nervous motion to accomplish their plan. After placing their order with the waitress, the night's agenda was unrolled as each man put forth his assessment of the situation.  
"As far as we know, Princess Talia is in her hotel suite with her traveling companion and body guard close by. Only I was assaulted, and even that is dubious. They left keys in a car that was fitted with a homing device". Illya recounted his escape from the warehouse while his partner listened, his mind assimilating the information even as he began to form a plan of action.  
"So, you think they wanted to get you out of the way, but if you did escape, they would follow you...sort of an odd way of doing business. Why would they do that?" Napoleon was tired, but that wasn't the reason he was stumped on the day's events. If Thrush wanted to hold Antolo hostage for their copper, then why play this game with Illya? It had accomplished nothing, unless...  
"What it did was get me here. How is that important? Do you think they wanted both of us on the scene for some reason?" Illya was busy making a spot for his dinner plate. He had developed a fondness for a southern dish called Chicken Fried Steak, smothered in gravy with biscuits. He was enjoying the food, at least.  
"Napoleon, when don't they want both of us? I just can't figure out why this ruse with the princess and the copper...none of it makes sense. Why do they want copper? And why grab me and dump me in a warehouse if they just wanted to follow me. So, yes, I suppose the obvious element is that you would be sent to find me". He was talking, but his expression said he had more attention on his food than his job. "Illya, if you continue to eat like that...' He motioned to the mounds of food on the man's plate...  
"You might just gain a little weight, you know". He hoped he would. It would serve him right for never having an ounce of fat on his body, while Napoleon had to watch it and work off every extra calorie.  
"Sorry, this is just very delicious. You should try it. It's steak, but they coat it and fry it like chicken...most ingenious". A Russian with a voracious appetite...just what the American needed. He took a bite of his own meal, a steak of a different persuasion. It was Texas, after all.  
"Okay, well that's just great that you're learning about southern cuisine. Back to the issue at hand..." He eyed his partner and then eased his shoulders again. If this was all they had for relaxation before getting back to business, then enjoy it. "I still think that someone in the Antolo camp is involved; no one else has expressed any interest in her or me, and the studio does business as usual. Unless they have an agent in the store...that seems possible, I suppose. I don't have any recollection about how they took me...I was sitting in the studio, and then I woke up in the warehouse".  
"That seems to indicate to me that there was someone in that studio...so either an employee of the store or..."  
"Or that sweet little receptionist? I don't think so, Napoleon. I did have a cup of tea just before". Illya closed his eyes, trying to remember the moment, retrieving whatever information he could from his dim memory.  
"Did you get it from the restaurant, or did someone deliver it to you?" This, finally, might be getting them somewhere.  
"It was that girl from downstairs, the one..." Napoleon's eyes riveted on his friends, an image of a girl...  
"Penelope? Damn, I thought she was a little too friendly, even for Texas". So, that girl was involved. She had delivered a cup of tea to Illya that was laced with a sedative, and had been waiting for Napoleon to walk through the door looking for him.  
"She is rather attractive. I suppose you have a dinner date with her?" The blond had his eyes on his plate, but a smile was forming between bites. It never failed, his partner could make a date in a hurricane.

The next stop for the two agents was the hotel where Princess Talia was headquartered. Neither of them had heard of any disturbance there, nor had headquarters had anything new to report. As far as they were concerned, the girl was in good hands and safe inside of her suite. Whether or not Thrush had plans for the royal was still questionable, given the events of the day. Illya's abduction had been a ruse to get Napoleon to Dallas, something that still was unresolved as to its importance. Why target the agents instead of simply removing the girl? Answers would be forthcoming, they hoped.

As Solo and Kuryakin neared the hotel where the princess and her entourage were headquartered, they went over their plan, such as it was. Normally they would have something concrete to counter a Thrush plot, but this time they didn't know what they were dealing with. The girl, by all accounts, was safe. A phone call had confirmed that, and their presence now was primarily to satisfy their own curiosity about the situation. Napoleon, of course, had not met the girl and had a vague sense of anticipation regarding this new female. Illya found her charming but not entirely beguiling, which meant she may be more the American's type; the two agents rarely competed over the same woman.  
They found a parking spot and entered the hotel, going directly to the elevator and up to the fifth floor where the royal had a suite. One knock on othe door was sufficient and it was opened by a young girl in a yellow jumpsuit and high heels. Although not the princess, she had the look of her monied benefactress, all elements of her appearance perfectly toned with expensive and tasteful perfection, her dark hair pinned into an elegant chignon.  
"Hello, Mr. Kuryakin. And this is Mr. Solo?" She smiled at the CEA with a knowing and practiced charm that fell immediately upon wary instincts.  
"Good evening, Violet. Napoleon...Violet...Violet...Napoleon Solo". Napoleon's face opened into his trademark smile, and the girl responded with a timid nod that was not in deference, merely in keeping up an appearance of such.  
"I believe the princess is expecting us..." Illya let his eyes wander to the living room and beyond. Princess Talia was not visible, so he expected she was in her bedroom waiting to make an entrance. She did tend to be dramatic that way, he had found.  
"Yes, I will inform her of your arrival. Please gentlemen, have a seat". With that she gestured to them to wait in the living room of the well appointed suite, which they did as the two exchanged looks and an understanding nod that something about the situation had a feel to it...not dangerous but still unexpected somehow.  
"What do you think?" Illya asked the question, knowing that he himself had an uneasy feeling about the situation. Napoleon looked around the room and then put his finger to his lips...  
He got up and started looking around the room, appearing to be admiring the artwork and various other points of interest while he checked for bugs and cameras. Neither of them trusted what they were seeing; their instincts were on high alert for what wasn't obvious in the room.  
"So, Illya, how many sittings have you two had at the studio?" He hadn't found anything, but that didn't ease the tension they both felt.  
"We have met there three times so far. The princess is a lovely subject, which makes the job much easier". As he spoke the blond was gesturing towards the hallway that led to a third bedroom. It was normally occupied by a bodyguard who traveled with Princess Talia. He noted that the light was out, which seemed abnormal considering the two women still remained in the suite. Why would the bodyguard be absent?  
He walked down the hall and tapped lightly on the door, which opened easily; it was not latched, nor was it occupied. He entered the room and closed the door, taking out his penlight which he began to flash around the room as he looked for some sign of it having been used recently. Instead, he found what appeared to be climbing aparatus; ropes and tackles as well as a box filled with black clothing. Since there was not any place for rock climbing in the area, his instincts and experience told him that his gear was for something more criminal. Why he went directly to that conclusion made him pause in the process, but what else would require these things?  
He returned to the door and peeked out. The princess was just coming out of her own room, but he was able to duck into the bathroom that was situated next door to the one he was leaving. Napoleon, watching all the while, was able to reply to the girl's inquiry as to Illya's absence.  
"Oh, he's in the bathroom. I'm sure he'll be right out...' He took her hand as he was speaking, raising it to his lips as he gingerly brushed a kiss across it.  
"I am his partner, Napoleon Solo. It is a pleasure to meet you". She smiled back and demured slightly, affecting a guise of vulnerability in his presence. Just then Illya came back down the hall and was greeted by his 'client', offering her hand to him as well.  
"Oh, Illya...are you alright? I heard that you were accosted by someone. I am so relieved to see you here unharmed". He self-consciously pulled his sleeves down, hiding his wrists with the telling signs of the struggle with the ropes.  
"Yes, thank you princess. I am fine. We were worried about your safety, however. I see now, here, that you are well. That is a relief". She seemed pleased at his confession of concern, and looked to her companion, Violet, as though to confirm something between them.  
"So, what are the plans then? Do we know who took you? They have not approached me at all, which seems very strange". "Princess, where is your bodyguard, Evan?" Illya found this to be very odd, the discovery of the two women alone.  
"He is downstairs, in the bar. I told him to enjoy some of the evening, rather than being stuck up here with the two of us. Besides, I knew you were coming so I am entirely safe". Her smile seemed to radiate confidence that her decisions were without question the only ones that made sense. She spoke, and people obeyed.  
"Ah, yes but...surely you know that Thrush could come in here and take you easily. You had a period of time with no protection whatsoever. That seems unwise". Napoleon was fishing for something, he just wasn't sure yet what it was. Perhaps their concern for her was adequate bait to get her to bite with an unguarded answer.  
"Mr. Solo, you are quite right. I suppose I was premature in my actions. Poor Evan, he will feel very responsible for having let me get away with that. Can we all just forget this faux pas on my part? Father would be ever so angry at Evan for leaving us here alone. I really don't know what I was thinking". Illya supposed she was thinking that no one would notice, or that Evan would have returned before he and Napoleon arrived. Something was going on here, and it didn't involve Thrush. He was beginning to think that organization wasn't even involved in this, and that something else was at the core of this situation.  
"Napoleon, I think I'll go downstairs and fetch Evan. You have the two ladies here to entertain you, and as I have enjoyed their company previously, I'll leave you for the moment'...he turned to Princess Talia and to Violet, nodded his head in lieu of a bow and left the suite in pursuit of the missing bodyguard. The two women didn't have time to protest, as he would have expected them to do. Evan may be in the bar, but Illya doubted it. Somehow he and Napoleon had a mystery to unravel and it centered around the activities of this trio. Thrush hadn't ambushed him, he was sure of it now. But what were they up to? And, who else was involved?


	3. Chapter 3

As Napoleon sat down to converse with the two ladies, Illya was on his way downstairs to the bar. He didn't actually expect to find Evan in there, although he wasn't certain where else to look. One thing was for sure: the tackle and supplies he'd found in the man's bedroom suggested that there were plans that had nothing to do with portraits or shopping in Dallas. After a quick inspection of the bar, the blond agent decided to take a trip back to the department store where all of this had started. He had a vague recollection of a bulletin that had passed through headquarters a few months prior concerning a jewel thief who was suspected of working for Thrush. Amassing great quantities of cut gems and gold had suddenly become a viable means of supporting the hierarchy, according to the report he'd seen. It just so happened that there was a display of rare gems, cut and uncut, as well as finished jewelry designs, being held on display at Neiman Marcus this week and next. If the copper story was a fake, perhaps this was the object of the royal visit and the princess was part of a jewelry theft ring.  
In the wake of his discovery, his abduction and the mysterious departure of the princess' bodyguard, Illya was getting one of those bothersome inklings that spies sometimes have. The idea that these three might be jewel thieves didn't seem hard to fathom at this point; Princess Talia's ability to move among the world's wealthiest people would make it a natural setting for a ruse such as this, and he strongly suspected that Violet and Evan had arrived on the scene from outside of the normal court personnel. The question now was whether or not Talia was with them, or merely cooperating in order to save...her country, her father? He didn't have that answer, and hoped that Napoleon might be able to pull some information from her while with her in the suite.  
The back employee's entrance to the store was dark, and the store had been closed now for at least an hour. There should be security guards inside the building, but outside there would be nothing to stop an intruder from entering before the alarms sounded. Illya went around to the loading dock, where merchandise came through receiving before being relegated to an area of the storeroom, or gathered for dispersal to the various departments. The lock on the side door next to the large rolling door was easy, and Illya was in quickly. There were no alarms, no guards close by that he could see. There were also no lights, and the UNCLE agent pulled out his penlight even as he went on high alert, listening for anything that sounded like another human being. The guards had to be down, otherwise he would have encountered one by now. Someone had cut the alarms and was now in the store.

Napoleon Solo was charming and handsome, a welcome addition to any woman's circle of friends. Tonight, however, the two women with whom he was sharing a conversation seemed anxious for him to leave. Violet had gone so far as to feign sleepiness and had changed into her nightgown, excusing herself for the evening. Even the princess acted as though she would prefer for him to leave, and tried to convince him that they would be safe with hotel security and their own private system installed in the suite.  
Reluctantly, and at the risk of Mr. Waverly's ire if he found out, the American bade them goodnight. He left his hotel phone number and promised to call on them in the morning. As he was shone out the door, he caught a glimpse of Violet peeking through her bedroom door, and he could have sworn she now wore something black and definitely not of the nightgown variety. 'Odd..." he thought. Something had to be going on...time to call his partner.

The big store was eerily quiet as Illya made his way from the back of the storerooms and out onto the main floor. There were lights in the display cases, but otherwise the store was dark. The jewelry and gem presentation was upstairs on the second floor, so he started the climb up the still escalator, listening for any sound above him. As he cleared the top step a figure flew towards him, knocking him sideways into a fur laden mannequin and toppling them both as the assailant drew back to level a wicked blow to his unshielded jaw. The force of the man's fist was enough to send the Russian over the open bannister and down to the first floor. Illya landed in a heap, unconscious and twisted from the fall. Evan looked over the side just long enough to ascertain his foe was no longer a problem, and moved on to the object of his visit. He had expected the girls to show up, not this UNCLE agent. Complications like this would slow them down, making their exit from the country more difficult. Where were they, and how had Kuryakin figured out the heist?

Napoleon tried raising his partner on the communicator, but got nothing in return. Where had Illya gone, and why hadn't he told him where he was headed? The irritation at the lack of information was less disturbing than his inability to contact him, though, and he ran through a list of locations the Russian might have headed. Finally, and with less certainty than he liked in a situation such as this, he settled on the store. That was where things had been centered up until now, so it figured that Illya would head back there, if for no other reason than to start over. Napoleon hailed a cab, wishing he'd rented his own car, and headed towards Neiman Marcus, much to the cab driver's confusion.  
"Hey, you do know the store is closed, dontcha?" The man's drawl seeped into the question as he drove towards the requested destination.  
"Ah, yes...well, I'm just meeting someone outside the store. We'll take his car from there". It wasn't as though he owed this guy an explanation, but in case he wasn't just a taxi driver...  
"Well, I reckon you know your own business...here we are". They pulled up to the curb and Napoleon passed him his fare and tip, hoping he'd just drive on and not hang around to see who else showed up.  
"Thanks...good night".  
Napoleon exited and stationed himself as though waiting for his ride as the taxi pulled out. When it was completely out of sight, he headed around the block to the back of the store. He'd assumed that if Illya were here, this would be his path of entry as well, so he headed for what looked like a door beside the loading dock. Sure enough, there it was, and it was unlocked. Someone had been here, and there were no guards or alarms sounding. Perhaps that's why Illya hadn't answered the communicator...it was silent and dark inside. It wouldn't do to alert anyone else of his presence.  
As the agent slid through the door and into the dark passage that led to the storerooms, another car was pulling up in the back lot of the loading area. Two women in dark catsuits emerged, one of them holding a leather satchel filled with tools of their trade. This was a team of jewel theives who had besieged the continent for the past year, and all of it under the protection of Talia's diplomatic and royal safety. Only now, in Dallas, did there seem to be a hindrance to their plans in the persons of these UNCLE agents. Neither woman was taken in by the charm or the good looks. They were commited to their careers and no one, not even their partner Evan, would be allowed to stand in their way.

Napoleon was heading carefully and silently onto the sales floor, staying away from the lit cases, stealthily clinging to dark recesses as he headed towards the center of the store. There, lying in a crumpled heap, was his partner. Illya's hair shone like a beacon even in the low light, and Napoleon was at his side instantly upon seeing him there.  
Looking at his position, a sickening feeling came over the American as he imagined what might have happened, his friend's body was arranged as though it had fallen and he looked up to see where he might have descended from. Illya could be seriously injured, judging by his lack of movement and the odd angles of his arms...  
"Illya...can you hear me?" He hoped for a response, but none was forthcoming, not even a tremor of recognition or movement. He was breathing, and there was no blood that he could see. In the midst of examining the prone figure, Napoleon heard noise coming from the back of the store. In this still environment, everything made a sound and the two women were entering with less than concern for whoever might be listening. They knew Evan was already in place, and they were coming in the direction of where Napoleon and Illya were now located. He hated to do it, but he slipped back into the darkness, leaving his friend in the place where he lay, still and lifeless.


	4. Chapter 4

Princess Talia Evangelique of the principality of Antolo was a beauty. She was also very intelligent and had a cunning that one would expect in a man of the world rather than a female in a token role. There was no real future for her among the politicians who ruled her small country. The little nation, or principality, was of no consequence on the world scene, and their ration of minerals and natural resources was not enough to lure any corporation or, even a megolamaniacal organization like Thrush to their verdant hillsides. Andolo had no future, which meant that Talia had no future within it. She wasn't the type of woman to wait for a man to legitimize her existence, nor did she long for the fulfillment of motherhood, as some did.  
What she had decided upon was an adventure beyond the imagination of anyone in her family or the royal court. Neither the prime minister nor her father would ever dare to think of her as she truly was tonight: a jewel thief. The ruse of Thrush wanting to invade their country had been just that; a ruse to get UNCLE to provide a cover for her presence in Dallas. If the agents were kept busy looking for enemies that didn't exist, then she and her team would have opportunity to do this job. The precious gems and jewelry exhibition at Neiman Marcus was just the type of bold acquisition she had been looking for. It had prestige and presence, an opportunity to make a name for herself...or rather her alter-ego. She hadn't come into anything press worthy as yet, but this would most certainly up the ante among her peers, and those who followed such things. That it would also put her on a list among Interpol and the FBI was of little concern, given her ability to pass borders and governments without scrutiny. The situation was perfect.  
At least it was until she saw Illya lying on the floor looking all the world like a dead man.

"Ahhhh...Violet. What has happened? Where is Evan and why...?" She shuddered as she bent down to check for a pulse. Illya groaned at her touch, emerging from the unconscious state that had claimed him earlier. "Illya...how badly are you hurt?" This wasn't supposed to happen. Violet leaned over Talia's shoulder to get a glimpse of the blond man lying among the merchandise into which he had fallen. Something beneath him had made the landing a little easier, if only from the standpoint of not being on the hard marble floor. That might have killed him, or done some other kind of permanent damage.  
"Talia, we don't have time for that. Get up here and let's finish this job!" Evan was peering over the railing Illya had managed to clear in his descent to the first floor. The two women were hesitant to leave the stricken man, but they had to get this job finished and return to the hotel before anyone interrupted them. If the UNCLE agent was in this shape, Talia hated to think of the guards Evan had encountered. Perhaps he wasn't suited to her style after all.  
"Evan, he's hurt. What have you done, and where are the guards?" She needed to know; it had never been about anything except the jewels. No one was supposed to get hurt.  
"He's fine. He...' motioning with his hand to Illya...  
"He came after me. I had no choice. Now get up here, our time is running out". She and Violet got up, reluctantly, and headed to the second floor and joined Evan. She would make a phone call later, to the police or a hospital. The entire escapade had taken on a menacing air, but she pushed herself forward to complete the job.

Napoleon had taken cover among a display of men's suits and was calling for back-up to their location. He requested an ambulance for Illya, but specified no sirens on approach. The Dallas office was sending agents to assist him in apprehending the three thieves upstairs, and he informed them of the back entry.  
Now, having accomplished all of that, Napoleon moved out from the shadows once again and stopped to check on his partner. Illya was unconscious, but he had moved at some point. Relieved to see that paralysis wouldn't be an issue, the agent began to ascend the stairs, careful to maintain a vigilant ear to the thieves who were dismantling the exhibit of precious gems and jewelry. Their bags were being stuffed full, their conversation muted as they worked swiftly and with a practiced hand. This was a career choice for them, but Talia would have words with Evan later regarding his actions tonight. She would not tolerate violence to become imbedded within their modus operandi. She was, after all, a princess.

Illya heard himself groan as he moved his left arm, trying to find a position that would allow him to sit. He was on top of something...clothes he conjectured. It was hard to see in the low light, but something had broken his fall. He was very grateful for that, considering how much it hurt without hitting the marble floor. As he righted himself, he looked up just enough to see Napoleon slowly climing the escalator's stairs. He remembered now...Evan had punched him, sending him over the railing and down to the first floor. He thought he remembered Talia's voice, and so reasoned that all three of the princess' entourage were upstairs. They were robbing the exhibit! He extricated himself from the clothes and whatever else he'd landed on, and got his body turned in the direction of the escalator. He didn't want to stand up or bring attention to the fact that he was up and about, so he crouched as low as his aches would allow and headed towards his partner. Napoleon glanced down and saw him approaching, pointed up to indicate the presence of the royal threesome.  
Once at his side, the Russian indicated he would take the left and go around to their backs, while Napoleon took a more direct approach. He raised up to his full height and began to walk casually towards the busy thieves, their attention fully on the task at hand.  
Just as he neared them, Evan looked up and started to move his hand toward something concealed in his waistband.  
"I wouldn't'...the voice was almost a growl as Illya reached to remove the gun from the confused man. How had he survived the fall and ended up here? Princess Talia dropped the jewels in her hands, indicating with a glance to Violet that she do the same. Something else was in that look, however, and as one the two women spun around, one towards Napoleon and the other to the stunned Illya. They kicked the guns out of their hands and landed back to back, ready to take on the surprised agents. Evan retrieved his gun and held it on the blond, challenging Napoleon to make a move. Somehow the American had no doubt that his partner would be in danger from this man; he seemed to not have any remorse about his previous actions, and would probably not hesitate to shoot.  
"Princess Talia, you have to give this up. There are other UNCLE agents, as well as an ambulance already heading here. You won't be able to get out, so...just give up now and maybe we can work something out". It was all he had, and the CEA went into executive mode as he chisled out the prospects for a deal with the young royal.  
"No, no Mr. Solo. This is not our first heist, if I may use such a crude term. We've...um...been in business for a while". She smiled with little conviction as she ran different scenarios through her mind, none of them happy. This wasn't going to end well, she feared.  
"Talia, you and Violet leave...now. Let me handle this". Evan had something in mind, and none of them had any doubt what it would be. The girls hadn't counted on anything like this when they dreamed up the adventurous lifestyle of a jewel thief. Her father would never forgive her if she were caught and exposed for what she had become.  
"Evan, finish up here...Violet, get the bag and come with me. Illya...' She walked up to him and kissed him. This was something she would regret the rest of her life.

"Goodbye gentlemen. I am truly sorry". As she turned to leave, she grabbed Violet's hand. At that instant, Illya threw a punch at Evan who's attention had been diverted by the women's departure. Napoleon grabbed at Talia's wrist and spun her around, causing Violet to be thrown off balance and down the escalator. As she tumbled down the stairs, Napoleon subdued the thrashing princess, taking her down to the ground and sitting on top of her. Illya, meanwhile, endured a blow to his torso that slowed him momentarily before he returned one of equal power to the man with the gun. His grip on the weapon failed as he went down on his knees, sagging beneath a second roundhouse punch from the smaller but highly skilled UNCLE agent.  
As the battered Violet reached the bottom of the escalator, two section three agents were coming upon the scene, followed by a medic. They automatically assumed that the girl was the patient, so started bundling her onto the gurney brought by the ambulance. Illya hauled Evan up, never lessening the firm grip as he pulled his arms up higher than they were intended to go. Napoleon had obtained handcuffs from one of the Dallas agents and was in the process of turning the princess over to him with instructions to notify the Antolo officials of the situation. Evan was likewise handcuffed and headed for transport to the Dallas UNCLE office.

"So, a royal jewel thief, no sign of Thrush and a nose dive from the second floor. You've outdone yourself this time, tovarisch". Napoleon looked smug as he shifted the responsibility over to his partner, although he was still concerned about any injuries the man may have sustained.  
"Are you feeling okay? That was quite a fall you took". Illya shrugged, then winced as his shoulder complained at the movement.  
"Yes, I am fine. Fortunately I landed on a clothing display that had as much cushioning as hard surfaces. I imagine the bruises will show up tomorrow". He looked around the store, then at the departing party of jewel thieves that had fooled not only UNCLE but most of Europe as well.  
"No one would ever have suspected her of this extra-curricular activity. Why, Napoleon, would a princess enter into a life of crime...even if it is glamorous crime? I am at a complete loss to understand this".  
"You know, Illya, some people are just never satisfied with what they have. What is more disturbing is that she was willing to...to let Evan kill us in order to save her reputation". He shuddered slightly at the thought of being left dead in Neiman Marcus. Which reminded him, the suit was a mess, one pocket was torn away completely... "You know...we're still missing one member of their team". Illya had sat down on a bench near the front door, the effects of his fall beginning to overwhelm the decreasing adrenalin.  
"Who? Oh...Penelope. Yes, the beautiful girl who served you the drugged tea'. Illya was nodding his head as Napoleon visualized the lovely Penelope.  
"So, where do we find her? She'll be waiting to hear from the others. Although, she might show up for work tomorrow..."

Penelope did show up for her normal shift, and a Dallas agent was waiting for her. She was flustered and indignant, but she went willingly enough, ready to tell everything she knew and claim coercion from the three Antolans.

Less than 24 hours later, Napoleon and Illya found themselves in New York, at UNCLE headquarters, facing Mr. Waverly. "So, gentlemen, would you like to tell me how it is that an international jewel thief with a permanent room at the Antolo palace, succeeded in fooling her father, UNCLE and, for a time, even you Mr. Kuryakin?" Illya dropped his eyes just slightly, catching his partner's slip of a smile as he prepared to make his remarks.  
"Sir, she was very convincing in her royal personna. Certainly, to her father and the royal court, she never gave any indication of her...avocation. It was only after investigating her bodyguard's room that I began to suspect what they were doing". "Yes, yes...I'm certain that you were onto her as quickly as was possible. Of course, being caught off guard and taken to that warehouse...any explanation for that?" The gaze settled on blue eyes, then diverted to a search for the elusive pipe. Illya knew the attention was still entirely on him, however. He had questioned the trio in Dallas, discovering that the abduction had been a ruse; like every other part of this affair, everything was done to create a rabbit trail of some sort; Illya was expected to escape. Talia hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, at least not in the beginning. Getting Napoleon to Dallas would have given more credence to the illusion that Thrush was involved, and they had hoped to keep the two UNCLE agents busy chasing that idea.  
"It appears that their entire escapade was designed around keeping us looking for Thrush's involvement. Timing, or lack of it, was their undoing. When Evan wasn't in the room, suspicions started to mount and...well, it just took off from there". Napoleon knew that there had been a few mistakes, but given the situation, they had solved the mystery and shut down a previously successful jewel theft operation.  
"Well, it's a troublesome thing, royals taking off like this and pretending to be jewel thieves. The girl has made a terrible mistake, and I don't see that she will recover from it. Her father has denounced her actions and the line of ascension has passed on to her younger sister. Princess...or rather Talia, will never be queen'...He found the pipe and started the ritual of filling it and tamping down the strong smelling tobacco.  
"That is all, gentlemen. I'll expect your written report in 24 hours". He ushered them out with his gaze, the doors opening with a whoosh as they approached them.

"That went well. I guess we're in the clear". The CEA of UNCLE New York flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his left sleeve, and winked at Waverly's secretary as he passed her desk.  
"Yes, it did, rather. I uh... don't suppose you'd like to get some dinner, as it appears we've been dismissed for the night". The blond hadn't eaten in several hours, and he had an empty refrigerator at home. Plus, the mission had been a success overall. They deserved to treat themselves to a good meal.  
"You know, that sounds like a great idea. In fact, there's a new Manhattan eatery I've been wanting to investigate. I think it will be perfect tonight, considering what we've just been through". He had a smile on his face reminiscent of a cat who's just finished off the family canary.  
Seeing the glint in his friend's eye, Illya supposed he should bite, so to speak...  
"And, my friend, where might this be?" Ahh, the moment...  
"Le Bijou..._The Jewel_. What do you think?"  
"Oh, Napoleon...' the groan was overdone, but the sentiment did not fail to amuse the Russian.  
"Yes, alright then. So, the food is good you say..."

And with that they sauntered out of the steel corridors, into the night and bound for an evening of good food, wine and the security of friendship. They were glad to be home without injury, satisfied that they had done their jobs.  
It was true that there were certain things in life, certainly their lives, that could not be bought, bartered or stolen. Jewels and possessions might demand the wealth of royalty or the attention of worldly collectors. The most important things, though, would remain priceless.


End file.
